


grab me by my ankles (i've been flying for too long)

by alaseux



Series: couldn't hide from the thunder (in a sky full of song) [1]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, M/M, Pre-Slash, but not for long, sort of??? theyre seventeen, this is a christmas present for taylor I LOVE YOU BABEY
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 08:27:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17138387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alaseux/pseuds/alaseux
Summary: “Excuse me,” says one of the boys. “Do you have anything for breaking curses?”“Aisle six,” replies Andrew dully. “If it’s mystic, aisle ten.”“Thanks,” the boy says, and hobbles away.(in which Andrew is working the night shift in an Oakland CVS, and Jean and Neil are in a bit of trouble)





	grab me by my ankles (i've been flying for too long)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [maytay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maytay/gifts).



> this is a christmas present for my platonic soulmate, the andrew to my neil, the idiot to my dumbass! queenofexy on tumblr, queenofmyheart irl. i love u taylor merry christmas i owe u my gotdam life  
> (fic & series titles both come from sky full of song by florence + the machine!)

It’s half past three in the morning when the door to the CVS slides open to let in two boys with tattoos on their cheekbones.

Andrew doesn’t really pay them much attention; his shift is almost over, and he’s focusing very hard on not falling asleep as he restocks a shelf of nail polish remover. The time is starting to wear on his eyes, and he blinks a few times in an attempt to moisten his drying contacts and remain conscious. Andrew hates this shift, he hates Oakland, and he hates being awake. He wants to go home and take a week-long nap and wake up in the middle of nowhere.

“Excuse me,” says one of the boys, walking up the aisle almost gingerly, stopping about ten feet from Andrew. He’s small and scarred, and he seems kind of peakish. His companion is hovering behind him like a tall, worried-looking shadow. “Do you have anything for breaking curses?”

“Aisle six,” says Andrew dully, a bit annoyed that they’re too far away for him to figure out their tattoos. “If it’s mystic, aisle ten.”

“Thanks,” the boy says, and hobbles away, cheeks flushing as he clutches his stomach, sweat matting his auburn hair to his forehead. The other kid follows him, telling him something in a low voice. They look about his age, seventeen.

A few minutes later, the two weirdos let Andrew know they’re ready to check out (the tall boy’s tattoo is a leaf or something; the short one’s is a flame), and Andrew wearily rings up their purchases: rose water, epsom salt, a bundle of white sage, some candles, and a bag of dried bay leaves. As Andrew prints out their receipt, the short kid seems to stagger for a second; his eyes flutter shut and the tense energy that’s been pulling his body taut vanishes. But before anyone can react, he’s back, standing straight up and rubbing at his eyes like nothing had happened. The tall one says something to him in what sounds like frantic French, to which the short one replies with a shake of his head. The tall one rolls his eyes, but the way his mouth twists as he presses his lips together betrays his anxiety.

Andrew is currently trying to convince himself that he can’t care less about this apparently dire situation, so he hands the boys their purchases and stares blankly at them, waiting for them to leave so he can forget about all of this as soon as possible.

“Do you have a restroom?” asks the tall one, instead of getting the hell out of dodge. His light French accent is annoyingly hot.

“In the back,” Andrew says. “Don’t get blood on the tile. I hate mopping.”

The redhead smiles a bit at that, and  _ oh,  _ Andrew feels something warm twist to life in his chest.

“We’ll try our best not to,” the short one promises, and then the two boys are walking away, pressed close like they might be stitched together.

Andrew isn’t sure why, but he says to them, “I’ve broken a few curses before.”

Without turning around, the redhead calls back, “Then come help.”

So after yelling to Sam, the other employee who’s unfortunate enough to be on the clock tonight, that he’s taking off a bit early, Andrew follows them.

“I’m Andrew,” he says as they pass by seemingly-endless rows of cheap drugstore makeup and shampoo and deodorant. 

“I’m Neil,” replies the redhead, voice a bit hoarse with pain. The glittery, vaguely-inhuman constellations of freckles dusted across his face are shimmering softly in the harsh, fluorescent lights. “He’s Jean.”

“Good morning,” says Jean, even though it’s clearly the opposite.

“Who cursed you?” Andrew takes off his nametag and unceremoniously shoves it in his pocket.

“It doesn’t matter,” Neil says, sounding more than a tad angry. Andrew doesn’t miss that firecracker-red edge in his voice. “Except that I  _ am, _ and if we don’t break it within the next eleven minutes, I will bleed to death in the middle of this fucking Walgreens.”

“CVS,” Andrew points out helpfully. “You’re in a CVS.”

“That  _ is _ a bit better than a Walgreens,” agrees Jean, but his voice is too strained for the joke to land.

“Fuck you,” Neil says anyway, right as a dark stain starts to spread over his stomach. When his fingers come away red from his shirt, he walks a little faster. “Shit —”

Andrew yanks open the door to the men’s bathroom and shoves them both inside. Neil all but collapses to the ground in front of the sinks, breathing hard. 

“Jean,” gasps Neil, and then Jean is there beside him, dropping to his knees and pushing some bay leaves into Neil’s mouth for him to chew. 

Sounding panicked, Jean says something in French, and Neil mumbles through the leaves in the same language; they hold onto each other like lifelines. Andrew forces himself to look away from the two and busies himself with sprinkling rose water and epsom salt on the floor. All of a sudden, his exhaustion is gone, replaced with a hollow yearning that curls deep in his chest like a slowly-waking dragon.

Jean reluctantly pulls away from Neil and begins to light the candles as Andrew presses his lighter to the end of the little bundle of white sage and walks around the room, dispersing the smoke evenly to cleanse the air. Still on the floor, looking seriously conflicted, Neil stares down at his covered torso, sending a quick glance toward Andrew and then toward Jean; when Jean nods, Neil tugs off his shirt to reveal a stretch of skin adorned with blood and scars. A curvy, deadly sigil is in the process of carving itself into his stomach.

“Little Red’s got some ouchies,” Andrew quips, off-hand, still waving the smoking sage around. He doesn’t let his surprise or anger show on his face, because that would be mocking the trust Neil was showing towards him.

Despite his obviously uncomfortable situation, Neil rolls his eyes, but at least Andrew’s casual remark has taken some of the tension from his shoulders. A moment later, when Jean finishes lighting the candles, he starts arranging them in a badly-formed circle around Neil.

“Have you two broken curses before?” asks Andrew, sniffing at the strands of lavender that are intertwined with the sage.

“Of course,” scoffs Jean, as Neil valiantly attempts not to writhe in pain on the floor. Andrew gives him points for effort.

“Then why the fuck are you arranging the candles like that?” Andrew tosses the sage away, suddenly bored with it, and flicks his fingers; the candles tug themselves out of Jean’s weirdass oval-shaped thing and reassemble themselves in a triangle.

Jean blinks. “Oh. Thank you. You’re—powerful.”

Andrew just hums, sitting criss-cross applesauce at one of the points of the triangle. He motions for Neil and Jean to do the same, and when they do, Andrew taps his fingers against his thighs and takes a deep breath. 

“Nature of the curse?” he asks.

“Elemental,” answers Jean. “Air-based.”

“Oh, that’s easy,” Andrew says, eyes fluttering shut. He mutters a spell for healing under his breath, and then, louder, one for protection against the evil that’s currently digging itself into Neil’s pale skin. As he chants, he opens his eyes to watch the crease in Neil’s brow starts to loosen, and when Andrew finally finishes his spells and leans over to sprinkle a handful of epsom on Neil’s stomach, Neil seems to regain his bearings.

“Holy shit,” Neil says, suddenly okay again, poking experimentally at his healing flesh. The spiraling pattern is already scarring over, another set of silvery marks to add to his vast collection. “That was fast. Damn.”

Andrew rolls his eyes. “You’re welcome, dumbass.”

“Thank you,” says Jean, voice thick with earnesty. “Really. We could not have done it without you.”

“It’s nothing,” Andrew mumbles, cheeks heating up a bit. “You two have to clean this stuff up, though.”

Neil nods. “Of course. Thank you, Andrew.”

“How are you feeling?” Jean asks, grabbing some paper towels and handing them to Neil, who begins the process of cleaning off his bloody belly. 

“Fine,” says Neil. When Jean groans, he amends, “Better. A lot better.”

Andrew, feeling a bit abandoned, stands and moves to leave the bathroom.

“Andrew,” Jean says.

Andrew turns. “What,” he deadpans.

“Do you want,” Neil begins, “to come with us? We’re kind of on the run from some… bad people right now, and it would be nice to have someone like you on our side.”

(He looks so  _ hopeful, _ and Jean’s grey eyes are wide with anticipation, and, really, how could anyone say no to them?)

Honestly, it isn’t like Andrew has anything going for him here, so he tosses his nametag on the counter and follows them out of this shitty CVS, away from a shitty job in a shitty city that’s never done anything for him, and vanishes into the cool California night with a pair of enigmatic, tattooed boys he’d only met half an hour earlier.

As he climbs into the backseat of Jean and Neil’s black, scratched-up BMW, Andrew figures this is probably the best decision he’s made in a long time.

**Author's Note:**

> this will be part of a series so look out for that !!!! thank u sm for reading,,,, leave me kudos/a comment if ur feelin it :-)


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